


From Armitage to Hux

by Bipolar_Armitage_Hux



Series: Bastards and Broken Things [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sex Worker, Alternate universe - Mafia, Child Abuse, Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Poor Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bipolar_Armitage_Hux/pseuds/Bipolar_Armitage_Hux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Armitage Hux's childhood from the Bastards and Broken Things AU / Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for severe child abuse and referenced child rape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Armitage Hux's relationship with his father, particularly how he reacts to the news his son isn't doing as well in the Academy as he should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for child abuse and reference rape (nothing actually happens in this chapter, and it's strongly reference in the second.)

Armitage's ginger hair was getting too long. That was clear from anyone who could see him walking down the street, and it was especially obvious when he was staring at the floor as he walked. His father hated it when he did that, and when he dragged his feet as he walked. He'd hit him on the back of his head and proclaim that "soldiers don't walk like that", or "if you trip up, I won't help you", or sometimes just a plain "watch where you're going" punctuated by a head slap and pulling his hair until his head, neck and back were straight. This was his private moment of rebellion, walking home from school by himself without his father - who of course never picked him up, and often forgot to tell the driver to - meant that he could walk how he liked. Even though he had to walk two miles it was still worth it, he got some alone time. He wasn't at school or at home, he was in a nice in between, a form of limbo where he could be by himself. It was a place where was safe. The only problem this time he couldn't focus on the sorts of things he would usually do - running around the roads, pretending to be a soldier, or a fighter pilot, his hand-me-down coat served as perfect imaginary wings as he slipped his small, thin hands into the pockets, lifted it up by his sides and ran through the streets, taking his regular shortcut through the park where he could really run around. Providing he was careful of course - the time he slipped and fell on the ground he came home covered in mud his father wasn't happy. Normally, the servants would discreetly, take any stained (or torn) clothing and clean (or fix) it without telling the master of the house. In this occasion however, there was no he couldn't notice. After that, Armitage was very careful. He didn't run too fast on the grass in the park, if he dared run on it at all. None of that mattered today of course, because he didn't have the heart to run around anywhere - so instead he walked home slowly staring at his small, black hand-me-down shoes. His heavy bag, filled with school books made his back curve and ache, hit his tail bone with every step, his school trousers were too short and you could see his navy socks when he walked. They were, like most of his clothes, hand-me-downs and at the beginning of the year were far too big for him but he'd had a growth spurt and now, even though they needed a belt to fit his skinny frame, they were still too short in the leg. His shirt was too big and missing several buttons but always hidden by his school jumper - the one thing he was wearing that was brand new. If he'd have gotten away with, his father would have probably just had thrown a plain black jumper at him but the school had very strict rules when it came to uniform and it mean he had to buy a school jumper, blazer and tie directly from them. Armitage loved them, they were the only things he owned that were his - he would have worn them all the time if he'd have been allowed to. As soon as he got home, he had to get changed because he wasn't trusted not to get his school uniform filthy and torn. 

 

When he got to the park, his stomach tightened and the sound of laughter and cheerful yelling filled his ears, he couldn't bare to look up and see them. The children running around with their friends and families, some around ten years old like him, some a little younger. He bit his lip when he imagined going up to them and playing with them but he couldn't. There was always a chance that one of the parents knew his father, the amount of adults who had stopped and muttered that he was "Brendol Hux's bastard" told him enough. And it wasn't as if most children his age liked him anyway - his father had made sure of that by sending him to a prestigious military academy in hand-me-down clothes, among other things. Not that any of this bothered him particularly at that moment, what was on his mind what currently resting in his bag, burning a hole into his back. He had received an 59% on his military history essay and when he got home, his father would know. Maybe that's why he didn't send anyone to pick him up - it was a form of punishment for him. That actually did cause Armitage's pale, thin face let out a smile. It's funny how the thing he looked forward to each day was considered a punishment. He hoped that this would be it but he knew it wouldn't, he knew that as soon as he got home his father would be there. And he would know, he always knew. The only thing he could hope for is that his father wouldn't be home and he would be able to hide in his room for a while. Maybe he could hide from his father completely, except he knew how that ended - either he'd be found and punished harder, or he would be left there. He wouldn't be fed, given water, or allowed to use the bathroom from fear of being found... If he dared to his father would find him. The two occasions he thought he could get away with it both ended badly and differently - the first time, his father beat him then and there, and then did so more for hiding. The second time his father grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him back in the wardrobe. He knew better than trying to hide. He just had to stand and endure his shouts, bullying and insults. He went limp when he hit him, and tried not to cry. It got worse when he cried. As Armitage got closer to his house he silently begged that he would just get a beating. Please just let it be a beating, he said to himself over and over again, to the point where he whispered it out loud. He hadn't looked up the entire walk home, and now he was at the gates to his father's mansion he would have to. He stared at the iron gates and pulled out the chain of keeps from the first pocket in his bag. He looked strange - a small, timid boy in front of a gigantic gate and even bigger house. Armitage had to use both hands to open the gate, the white scar between his thumb and index finger touching the bar with one hand and his bent fingers on his left hand gripping around the other bar. His fingers spasmed when he tried to use the latch, so this was the easiest way to get it to open. One day his father would fix the gate, maybe he would do it quicker if he knew it was easier for Armitage to use this way. 

  
  
The walkway to the house never felt longer than on his way home from school, the pale stones under his feet seemed to play his own dirge as he slowly took small steps to the large, mahogany door. When he got there his small hand turned the black, handle that was bigger and more ornate than his palm and opened the door. It creaked as it opened but only because his father wouldn't let the servants oil it. He liked hearing when people were coming into his house, Armitage gulped when he heard it. His father, with his sensitive hearing would have definitely heard him had he been home. As Armitage slowly took off his black previously-owned windbreaker he creeped to the coat room, the first small room in the tall, cream and golden hallway. The room was grand as well although a little small, and when the child took of his coat he had to stand on the shoe rack to reach the hook. He slipped of his shoes, leaving him with his bare feet to stare at as he walked into the hallway. And as he did he stopped for a moment and listened. The house was silent. He could barely hear the servants chattering away in the kitchen.  _The kitchen_ he thought, as his belly suddenly rumbled. He yearned to go and talk to the cook, who would bake him such delicious meals, tell him stories and give him a hug. She was a woman around his father's age with eyes very similar to Armitage's and she smelled like dough and washing up liquid. His father didn't like them spending time together, but it didn't stop her sneaking into his room at night to tell him a story and leave him supper, it didn't stop Armitage sneaking down to the kitchens at every spare moment... He had no idea why she was the one person who treated him so kindly but it was the one thing that managed to make the child excited. He wanted to go there now and see her, but he couldn't. One the one hand, his father wasn't in front of him immediately, asking him to stand to attention and asking about his day at the academy... Which meant he was lucky and he was alone. That being said, if his father was to come home to find him in the kitchen, his beating would be even worse. Armitage settled for sneaking up the grand staircase, and sneaking down the end of the hall, to the small room at the end. It had previously served as a store room but had been emptied for him. It now contained a small single bed, a wardrobe, a desk covered in battered, dusty books and an old computer, with a desk lamp that barely worked. The covers on his bed were threadbare and the walls were the same colour as the hallway. Armitage entered his room and sat on his bed staring at the wall. He felt a little bit cared for when he saw the bed had been made - the servants had been told that he had to clean his own room and they couldn't interfere... But one of them did so anyway. Years later, Armitage would realise it was the cook who did. He never properly thanked her for everything she did. He stood up, pulled off his blazer, hanging it in his wardrobe. He pulled his jumper over his head and did the same, he unbuttoned his shirt - that had rolled up sleeves as the elbows reached his wrist. He hung the shirt up in his wardrobe and as the young boy stood their shirtless he froze as he heard the familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, walking towards his door, knock loudly on it, causing Armitage to wince, and then open it. The young boy turned to his father- a huge man with hair the same colour as his. His father, Brendol Hux had narrowed eyes that glinted as if he was secretly enjoying what he was doing. This is something Armitage would not realise until much later, at the time he just noticed the narrowed eyes, the clenched fists and hardened shoulders. Brendol, at this very moment, looked down at what he thought was a pathetic excuse for an heir and couldn't believe he was his son. 

 

"Son," Brendol began in a faux-gentle voice. "How was the Academy today?" The air was heavy as the words hung in front of Armitage - even the ten year old knew full well that his father already knew. Before Armitage could reply he felt a heavy blow to the side of his head. The child fell to the ground, his hand flew to his temples and his eyes watered. Don't cry, he thought. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. "I said," his father said again, not even trying to hide his anger this time. "How was the Academy today?" 

  
"It -it went well, father," Armitage began in his quiet, high-pitched voice, scrambling to his feet. 

 

"Oh? Did you perhaps, receive any marked essays today?" Brendol asked, edging forward. Armitage nodded and gulped. I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry, he thought. "Well? Give it to me!" His father hissed. Hux turned around to pick up his school bag, unzip it, and pick out the now slightly crumpled piece of paper covered in harsh, red ink. Brendol's eyes burned into his back the entire time and when Armitage turned round and held it up for Brendol to see, it was immediately tugged from his hands. 

 

"Fifty-Nine-Percent," Brendol said enunciating every syllable. "You got fifty nine percent on an essay about a war that I fought in. A battle that I orchestrated and you got  _fifty nine percent_?!" His father shouted, close to the small boy's face, causing ringing in his ears. Armitage's mind failed him as tears fell down his cheek. Brendol picked the small boy up by his neck and held him against the creaking wardrobe. "Why are you sniveling _maggot_? Ashamed? You should be. I'm surprised you can spell your own name. Or can you? Let's see, spell it for me boy, go on!" Brendol loosened the grip on the boy's neck who took this opportunity to take a deep breath before he spoke. 

"A-R-M-I-T-A-G-E H-U-X," he said breathlessly, desperately gasping before his father's hand tightened against his throat again. His father threw him on the floor, Armitage felt himself fall, and his cheek hit the floorboards at the same time. He held back the tears that were threatening to overtake him, he scrambled up and his face was dripping wet. He had failed. 

  
"Look at that, you pathetic, little, maggot," his father said, looking down and walking towards the boy's place on the floor. "You don't even know your name do you?" Armitage froze, he was both scared and confused, so much so he couldn't answer back to his father. He was so scared he couldn't even think. "Let's spell it together shall we? Repeat after me - B," Brendol taunted. 

 

"B-Bee," Armitage stammered. 

 

"A."

  
  
"A-ahh."

 

"S." 

 

"E-Ess," Armitage gulped and his whole body began to shake. He knew where this was going. 

 

"T," his fathered continued, almost humming. 

 

"T-Tee." 

  
"A, again." 

  
"A-ahhh." 

  
"R."

  
"A-RRr."

 

"D."

  
"Dee."

 

"Well done, maggot. And what does that spell?" His fathered asked tauntingly. 

 

"Bastard," Armitage whispered. In response, his father angrily stamped on his gut and Armitage screamed out. Brendol laughed before he continued. 

 

"Louder," he said. 

 

"Bastard," Armitage shouted, as well as you could when you were in agony, terrified, on the floor and breathless. 

 

"That's right," Brendol said pulling the boy up by his arm. "Bastard, that's all you are. You're a bastard, a maggot, you don't deserve my name. You don't deserve to exist, you're nothing but a disappointment. I should have slit your throat at birth,  but I let you live didn't I?" He paused to make sure Armitage was nodding his head. "Yes, that's right. I let you live unlike your whore mother and you continue to hurt me like this?" He threw Armitage on the bed, he hit his head against the stone wall. He would have cried more but there wasn't enough water left in his body. Brendol walked to his door, and stopped to turn around. "Oh, and - I will lock the door, to make sure you don't sneak down to the kitchens. You will stay in here and study, without any food. If you're quiet and good, I'll come visit you tonight," Brendol finished almost hissing. Armitage froze as he stared at the place his father was as he shut the door. If he shouted and screamed, he'd be beaten more. If he was quiet and behaved, his father would come into his room at night and... Armitage didn't have a word for it then. There was no way he could win, all he could do was curl up on his bed, trying not to focus on the pain as he cried, and cried, and cried. Feeling pathetic as he did so. His father was right - he was a pathetic little cry baby. A maggot. A bastard. He shouldn't have existed.


	2. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Armitage is left locked in his room, hungry and alone, waiting to see if his father will let him out or come to see him later or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: child abuse and rape.

Armitage was curled up on top of his threadbare, navy duvet, still shirtless and now sore. His father left twenty minutes ago precisely, he knew this because he was staring at the old clock on his wall. The one he originally hated because it didn't tick like clocks usually do, now he liked how smooth it was and watching the hands go around slowly was relaxing to him. It would have made him feel much better if it wasn't accompanied by every single noise he heard making him flinch. The clattering in the kitchen below him, the slamming of doors through out the manor, servants shouting at each other. It all made him lose his breath, his muscles stiffen and his eyes start to water. Father's right, Armitage thought as he wrapped his bare arms around his legs. I'm pathetic. He was, although he would never tell his father this, was secretly glad about how easily he had gotten off today. Considering how low his grade was he expecting more than a beating and no dinner, that being said... He was nervous about that night. His father would come back at some point and he didn't know when, which made it worse. This is what gave him the motivation to sit up and get changed. He did so gingerly but wincing all the same, he groaned as he stood up to get to his wardrobe, leaning on it so he could keep his balance. He slipped a t-shirt off one of the hangers, one of the three he owned - the clatter of the empty hangers either side of it made him flinch a little as he pulled the far too big black t-shirt over his head. He gasped in pain as he lifted up his shoulders and then when it was on he smiled slightly and hugged his own chest as he focused on the soft fabric against his skin. This t-shirt the cook had bought him for his birthday, it had been the only present he'd recieved. She'd gotten away with it by telling his father that her brother was getting rid of some clothes, and although Armitage knew full well that the cook wouldn't have been able to afford a brand new t-shirt he knew it wasn't a hand-me-down. That's what all of his other clothes were - school uniform aside - and this felt special. It was a plain black t-shirt covered in the constellations, with their names written just underneath each one. He wore it whenever he could, it felt too good to belong to him and he knew one day it would be taken away from him somehow. He needed to cherish it at every opportunity.

 

He grimaced as he achingly changed into an old pair of jeans - these were definitely hand-me-downs with the stained sides, frayed hems and torn knees. He didn't mind, they were very comfy - he just felt like his t-shirt deserved better. He shut his wardrobe doors after hanging up his uniform. He turned to his desk, pulled out his chair, turned on his computer and pulled out one of his books, grudgingly. As he knew his father could return at any minute - he needed to make sure that if he found him studying. That way, hopefully, any further punishments wouldn't be so terrible (Armitage didn't dare hope that they might even be spared.) Hours past and Armitage had barely accomplished any work, but thankfully he had been left alone with his thoughts and he was starting to flinch less at every noise. However, he could not focus on anything. His head hurt from earlier and he felt weak from dehydration and hunger. The fact that he could smell the roast beef from the kitchen below his feet did not help. He tried not to think of the pain in his stomach and the loud noises coming from his gut. He tried not to think of how he skipped lunch at school. He tried not to think about how he hadn't eaten since breakfast, and he definitely tried not think about how he hadn't eaten that much because of his nervousness about getting his essay back today. Although, at least that stopped me throwing up when father kicked me in the stomach, he thought bitterly as he stared hopelessly at his computer screen. The words all melted together, he couldn't make sense of anything, he'd forgotten what he was even supposed to be reading. He pushed his chair back, grabbed his hair, clenched his eyes shut and rocked back and forth.

 

"Stupid Armitage, stupid Armitage, stupid Armitage. Why can't you focus?" he repeated to himself quietly. His head fell into his hands for a moment and then he heard a key in his locked door and he straightened up instantly, his entire body froze.  
  
"Hiya Armitage," the soft voice took him by surprise and he relaxed instantly as he looked to the door to see the cook there. He didn't reply but smiled in response and she quietly walked over to him with a couple of plates and drinks on a tray. "We can't tell you're father, but there was some leftovers from dinner and I thought we could share them," she said sweetly. "Also! Apple juice, and I cooked up some cookies." Armitage smiled, tried to say something but just ended up crying. The cook didn't say anything she just placed the try on the bed and gave him a hug. Armitage almost choked on her perfume and the smell of dough and the beef, but stayed silent. "We have to be quick," she continued. "Because your father's going to be back soon." On this Armitage spun round and wolfed down the food, which made the cook giggle, and actually caused him to give his first laugh of the day. The cook always managed to comfort him - she had curly black hair, tied back in messy ponytail, shocking blue eyes, pale skin with crows feet and laughter lines, and the kind of short and cuddly Armitage liked to think his mother was. In fact, he liked to think his mother was like her in a lot of ways - like her kindness and sense of humour. He only just wished she would stand up for him in front of his father. I wish my mother did that, Armitage thought. But since she was attracted to my father, she probably wasn't, he added to himself bitterly. Shocked by the fact that he had even thought that and felt instantly guilty. He took a gulp of apple juice and tried not to think of any it further. He tried to focus on the food, drink, the cookies, how loved he felt, and how comforting this whole thing was. He needed to focus on that and not his father. It didn't matter that he was going to be back in a few hours, this felt good and was much more important. After ten minutes or so she left and Armitage was left alone again - but this time with a full stomach and a feeling that he wasn't alone. He needed that. When she left he got back to trying to study and he actually did a little bit better. 

 

  
He recognised his father's car driving up to the house and immediately froze. He had actually been getting a lot of work done and was almost enjoying himself but now all of the words melted together again. He couldn't focus on anything individually, even when he knew his father was downstairs and not anywhere near his room he still felt terrified. Not for the first time in his life he wondered about running away but it was far to unfeasible. He had no where to go, no one would want him or take him in, and they would probably send him back to his father. Not that he hadn't tried before of course - that was how he knew his plan wouldn't work. The memory of his father's punches were fresh in his mind, as were his words.

  
"Do you know how grateful you should be?! No one else would take in, clothe and feed a bastard like you" and "I didn't try to find you, I just control so much of this city. You were just brought back to me, you can't escape me, maggot" were two phrases that he heard when he tried to go to sleep or even tried to imagine being somewhere else. Apart of him wanted it to not be true, he tried to convince himself by thinking of how nice a person the cook was. She cared about him, she took care of him. Yes but, that ever so familiar voice in his head said. You know she's just doing that because she's being kind. She doesn't care about you really. He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair, trying to get the bad thoughts to shut up. When he opened his eyes he realised it was around eight o'clock and although he hadn't been told to get to bed... HIs father often forgot to send someone to tell him anyway. He stretched which resulted in a wince and him immediately regretting it. He got changed into his too short, old pajamas and laid in his creaking, bed.  This just resulted in more wincing because it was so uncomfortable. He made the mistake of complaining to his father about it once, it didn't go well. He often wished he said that he'd rather sleep on the ground, and in his one act of defiance, he used the blankets to make himself a bed on the floor. He regretted that when his father came into his room that night. He turned the lights off and curled up in his bed, trying  not to focus on the pain in his ribs, head, joints and his mind. He struggled to fall asleep but eventually did, thinking he'd escaped his father that night. Being awakened, in the early hours told him that he had been mistaken - and as soon as the light streamed into his room. Armitage knew his father had been drinking from the moment the orange light filled his room. His eyes hurt instantly and he scrunched them. He knew this was going to be a bad night when his father said "sorry" before shutting the door. His father didn't apologise. 

 

 

When Armitage saw the shadow of his father leaning against his desk in the dark he froze, he was just watching him, nothing else. They stayed their in silence, Armitage pretended to be asleep but Brendol knew he wasn't and Armitage knew that he knew. What made it tense for the boy is that usually his father wouldn't just be silent if he was pretending to be asleep... This entire situation was odd and Armitage knew full well it meant things were going to be worse than usual. Suddenly, his father moved and knelt down next to his bed - the smell of whiskey that had been present since Brendol had entered the room became stronger. Armitage never pointed out he was drunk, it just got him angry. He'd deny it like the room didn't reek of alcohol whenever he walked in after disappearing to his study to "work" for hours, Armitage wondered if he actually thought that people believed him. Suddenly, the child felt a hand against the side of his face and he winced. His father ignored it and started stroking his hair. 

 

"Shush, don't worry, son. It's me," his father crooned. Armitage was frozen in fear and had no idea how to react. "I'm sorry about earlier, but you understood why I had to do it, didn't you?" As soon as he finished his son nodded frantically. Maybe if I agree to everything he says, he'll leave me alone and keep being nice, he kept telling himself. "Of course you did, you're a good boy. I just want you to be a clever, useful boy, the best you can be. You know that," his father contnued, stroking his hair the whole time. Armitage nodded, he wasn't sure if it was a question or not but he thought he should just in case. "How about a special treat? Why don't we find you a more comfortable bed to sleep in tonight? Does that sound nice?" Armitage didn't respond for a moment. Yes, it very much did sound nice but he didn't trust his father at all. He didn't believe he would just be allowed to sleep but he didn't want to think about what would happen if he refused Brendol. Armitage nodded, and his father smiled at him. He memorised his father's smile in the moonlight and his eyes started to sting. His father didn't smile at him like that, ever. Maybe this was real, he thought. His father helped him out of bed and took him by the hand. Armitage thought they were going to his bedroom upstairs but his father led him to the rarely used, spare bedroom at the end of the hall. When he walked in, his father switched on the light but dimmed it dramatically. Armitage was frozen still at the doorway, unsure of what to do.   
  
"Well, get into bed then," his father said as if his child's fear was an amusing characteristic. Armitage crept up to the big double bed with burgundy silk sheets and sat on the edge of it. He had to climb to get onto it and his feet didn't touch the floor. He bounced on it a little and ran his fingers across the silk. He couldn't believe how smooth it was. At that point his father came closer, picked him up with ease, and slipped him into bed under the duvet. For a moment, Armitage thought that he might actually be left alone but then his stomach dropped as his previous fears had been confirmed and his father had got into bed with him. Armitage wanted to throw up as his father's alcoholic breath engulfed him, he was curled up in the bed and stiff with fright. After a moment, his father wrapped his arms around him and his sickily breath was in Armitage's ear. "You are my good boy, aren't you son?" He repeated, his words slurring. The child swallowed as he felt an arm pull him closer and a hand start to take off his pajamas. "It's not your fault your stupid and useless, is it, son?" He continued. Armitage curled up their not responding, he didn't know what to say or do. He fell for this trick every time - his father would be nice and kind, knowing Armitage was desperate for it. Then he would use that moment to get his son to completely submit to him. "But we both know there's one thing your really good at, don't we Armitage?" This phrase was the one that stung the most. His father very rarely used his first name, but when he did it was either to humiliate him further or just before he was about to rape him. Years later, his son would wonder why Brendol didn't just use the fact he was terrified of him (as a child he would never have fought back.) The only answer that he could think of was that that just wouldn't have been as fun for his father, would it? 


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set five years after the second chapter. Armitage Hux is 15 years old and things have changed somewhat. He decides to try and take a day to himself - one that's just for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for child abuse and reference rape.

The last five years have been very similar for Armitage Hux with some very distinctive changes. Things got a lot better for him when he became old enough to fight back which resulted in him managing to fight his father's attempt at house arrest. This resulted in him having another connection to the outside world which was paramount to his understanding of it as well as his perception of his father. Of course, he was still only fifteen years old but it made a significant different to being ten years old. He was as tall as his father and still growing, lack of nourishment from a young age (mostly because of his father but partly self-inflicted) meant that was still incredibly thin, but he was incredibly fast, a very good fighter and more than capable with a weapon. These were three things his father hoping wouldn't happen because it meant he could not be as easily controlled. Unfortunately there were three things that Brendol Hux still had over Armitage: firstly, Brendol very much knew how to get into the young man's head. Secondly, despite his bluster Armitage was still terrified of his father and very much still submissive. Thirdly, no matter what Armitage said, Brendol knew he was still determined to please and be like his father. For as long as these things were true Brendol's control over Armitage still existed and Brendol's abuse could continue to get worse and there would be nothing that Armitage could do to stop it. There was of course, another aspect to the entire thing and that was that no one outside of their household would ever believe Armitage about how awful his father really was. Sure, the servants knew, but Brendol wasn't exactly kind to them either. This wasn't exactly something that Brendol could keep over Armitage forever, Brendol did have power but if say, Armitage were to go to the press, or to his Academy, or his father's business partners, or anyone else they might not believe him but they would have to investigate. The press would report it because it would be an interesting story, that would put pressure on the Academy and the scandal would cause Brendol's business partners to be unable to be seen working with him. This was something that Brendol had kept from Armitage for a long time - but now he was a star pupil at prestigious academy and a boy of fifteen. This was something Brendol could not keep from him and in this circumstance Armitage had outplayed him. 

 

Of course, Armitage would never tell a soul because despite him knowing that he  _could,_ technically do so... He was still terrified of his father, he did love the man, and no matter how much he argued he did think that Brendol Hux was completely right about him.  So, as a result this didn't get Armitage as much leeway as he wanted because if he pushed this too far his father would not be scared and would certainly call his bluff. And if Armitage was completely honest with himself, he wasn't convinced that his father wouldn't beat him to death, or to the point where he would be completely dependent on the man. That being said, he couldn't could complain with what his insistence that he could in fact ruin Brendol had gotten him. He had moved into a bigger spare bedroom, although his father had insisted it was the room he raped him in at ten years old and regularly afterwards. Considering Armitage had been regularly beaten and molested in his old, small room he didn't consider how awful this would be. He did of course, but it was too late then. The other things Armitage had managed to push his dad into giving him was a decent allowance and a key to his own room. This resulted in him having enough for decent clothes, his own food when needed and, his now most prized possession, a mountain bike. The key to his room stopped his father from being able to lock him in there. Of course, two years prior, Armitage had snuck out of the window, he was of course beaten horrendously for doing so but it showed Brendol that he couldn't contain his son as easily any more. The key was more symbolic opposed than anything else. His father did still have one too, so he could come and go as he pleased.   
  
For the most part however, things were significantly better. Or at least, they were from Armitage's point of view. He felt like he now had freedom to hate his father and have a life outside of him. So, even though he was continued to be beaten  and raped regularly, he also could go outside for the first time in his life. The downsides were now he was older the punishments were worse, much worse. In fact his father was able to get more creative and there was a much wider variety of things he could say to hurt him. Armitage was still terrified of going home however, and although he had more freedom of the house... The cook had disappeared two years before hand and no one would tell him where she had gone. This meant there was no longer a person in the house who didn't scowl when Armitage entered the room, he was no longer bought treats, and his father got a way with withholding meals. Of course, now he had an allowance, this wasn't always possible but Brendol knew his sons spending habits, he knew he was terrible with money, and he knew when he was about to run out. As much as Armitage tried, he couldn't escape Brendol's controlling clutches entirely. 

 

This day, was five years to the day since his father had raped him. Sure, he had touched him before then but this was the first time it had gone  _that far_. This day was engraved in Armitage's memory but he kept quiet about it, since if his father knew he might try and come up with a way to mark the occasion. His plan for this anniversary was to spend as little time at home as possible. If he didn't sleep at home, then his father couldn't touch him. If he didn't come home, then there was no chance of Brendol punishing him. He wouldn't even have to speak to the man. For the past five years, it was not possible to avoid Brendol on this occasion and as to whether any of the above happened was very hit or miss. On this day however, things would be different. Brendol could punish, abuse and hurt Armitage if he was not immediately home from the academy to study on a weekday. However, today was the last school day of the week. This meant he was free until Monday - he would have to do some studying while he was home or his father would beat, torment or torture him depending on his mood... But whilst he was out of the house, on a weekend, he was free to do as he wished. That was his main thought as he road his bike home on that afternoon. It was raining heavily, and his boots and trousers were being stained with mud and rainwater, as well as the bottom of his coat. When he arrived home he would probably has his head held in the sink whilst his father screamed at him, Brendol was a fan of making the punishment "fit" the crime these days. At this moment however, Armitage did not care. He knew he would be hurt anyway, so it didn't really matter what he did.   
  
Right now however, he couldn't think about this. The way the wind hit his face as his bike rushed down the hill with water splashing all over him, distracted him sufficiently. He felt like he was flying again, like he did as he ran across this very road as a child. As he reached the park, he skidded on his bike, spun around and braked  _just_ in time. He grinned as his feet hit the floor and laughed loudly. He'd managed it, he usually fell at the end but this time he'd managed to stay on his bike. He felt wonderful. He felt alive. His small thin hands let go of the handlebars and he ran them through his wet hair, resisting the urge to shake it. His father insisted if he didn't have close-to-shaved hair, then he would at least have to have it swept back. The reply that Brendol did not care much about Armitage's hair when he was a child resulted, in Brendol grabbing Armitage by the throat for his insolence. Further comments resulted in Brendol's knee making swift contact with Armitage's groin. Since then, the young man decided to avoid the topic and did as his father. He did consider changing his hair as soon as he left the house, but he knew better. His father was incredibly well known, and so was his illegitimate son. The night before, as he laid in his bed with new, deep purple sheets staring at his white ceiling he decided that this day was going to just be for him - and as he road his mountain bike through the park, with his father's old military coat, billowing in the wind, he had made the decision official. He was going to spend his day, evening and night anywhere but at home. He could go to the cafe he often went to before and after school for dinner, he could stay there for hours on the arcade machines there, he could go to a few bars he knew full well would serve him despite his age, or he could sit in the park all night and possibly freeze to death. That would even be preferable to going home today. He decided, despite his decision that he would happily freeze in the park if it meant never going home again... He thought getting out of the cold and heading to the cafe was probably the best idea. 

 

He arrived at the cafe and smiled at the familiarity. As he locked up his bike on the fence just outside the greasy spoon he wondered if this is what it felt like to go home for some people. To go to a place so familiar where you knew you could be safe. He walked in, and as he did he pulled off his dad's old military coat and sat down at his usual booth, on the left just by the window. He sat on a dark leather seat, pushing his wet bag and coat under the table. He had his regular waitress a young blonde woman who rested her hand on Armitage's shoulder sometimes and terrified him. Pretty people scared him. Pretty people he was attracted to even more so. He was terrible at conversation at the best of times and he wasn't exactly one for making friends. He nervously ask the pretty girl if he could have a mug of tea, and a cheeseburger. She nodded, gave an enchanting smile, twirled round so her skirt flitted around and walked back to the kitchens. Armitage felt his face burning with embarrassment, deciding to hide behind one of the books he stowed away in his bag. He pulled out an engineering text book which at home he hid behind a military history book. His father did not think he was intelligent enough to be an engineer and that he should focus on being a soldier. Armitage however, was far more interested in reading about engineering. His wanted to do it at university one day, but he knew he'd probably end up following in his father's footsteps. As much as hated to admit it, he would kill to have his approval and... isn't that precisely what they did in the military? Of course, he did often wonder if he could be a soldier and an engineer but that was probably wishful thinking. What would actually happen is two years later, Brendol would sell his son's services to the Mafia and he would work for them as a hitman. Of course, Armitage did not know this at the time, and he was under the impression that maybe he had some hope of not doing what his father wanted him to.

 

When his cheeseburger and tea came, he wolfed one down and burnt his tongue enthusiastically drink the other. He didn't have time to be embarrassed around the girl who was clearly attracted to him (and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't to her) as he poured himself into the engineering textbook in front of him. He had prepared himself with a pen to highlight and take note of particularly interesting parts or sections he did not understand and should look at later. After a couple of hours this, he had ordered another plate of chips and three mugs of tea. It was around six in evening when Armitage put the book in his bag, and since the cafe would be open until 9pm, decided to play on the arcade machines for a little while. His favourite - as stereotypical as it was - was Time Crisis, the game with the pistols in the corner. Normally, he found this sort of "point and shoot" game was ridiculous and infantile. In this case however, he had to admit there was something very therapeutic about the bloody thing. To his annoyance he wasn't very good at it, so as he walked over he felt determination. It felt like now was his time to beat this game finally.

 

Of course the game had different ideas. On the fifth game over title, and with only two coins left, he had to admit he was getting a little angry. His hands were shaking and he felt like the images were taunting him. It stopped being about the game now, he had to win. He had to show that he could do something fucking right. Second to last coin. He gets further into the game than before, he's excited and... Bang. Enemy comes around the corner and the protagonist is dead. Armitage's hands are shaking when he puts in the last coin and when he passes the first stage and around the first corner he made a stupid mistake. Dead. Armitage stood staring at the "GAME OVER" screen for a good minute, breathing heavily and feeling the urge to hit the machine. He managed to contain the impulse and walked back over to his booth, he pulled his previously-owned coat on and threw his bag over his shoulders. He waved goodbye to the waitress and walked out of the entrance, he picked up his bike, walked down the street a little. Then he found a bare piece of wall, just between the cafe and an off-licence. Armitage turned to it, swung his arm back and threw his fist into the wall. He cried out, bit his lip and shook his hand and finally looked down his hand. Looking down at the bleeding knuckles, grazed skin and what would inevitably result in bruising he felt like he had an everlasting reminder of his failure. He knew it didn't really mean anything. He knew he was talented at other things but as he felt the stinging, aching pain in his knuckles he heard his father's voice in his ears. All he could hear was his father telling him he was "useless", "not fit to carry his name", a "maggot", "stupid", and "only really good at one thing". The latter being before he raped him of course. He shook his head as if it would somehow make the thought falls out of his ears and unlocked his bike. He didn't want to think about it. This was supposed to be his day, not his father's. 


	4. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angst-ridden Armitage continues his night that will only belong to him... It doesn't quite go as planned.

By the time Armitage made it to a seedy pub on the edge of the city, he was freezing and wet from the rain. He parked his bike in the alley to the right of the place, made sure no one was looking and used this opportunity to change his shirt. No one would ask for his identification here - but he thought if he showed up in his Academy uniform he might be pushing his look a little. He slipped off his father's military coat, blazer, jumper and then (after looking up and down the alley again) quickly unbuttoned and pulled of his white shirt. His back spasmed  as the cold air touched his skin and quickly pulled on a navy and light blue striped t-shirt. Shivering, he pulled his dad's military coat on and felt a lot warmer, the outside may have been soaked but the inside was still dry and comfy. He stood outside the pub for a little while, looking the windows and at the tall, dark green door with peeling paint. He heard loud voices and laughter from inside, they all sounded so happy and like they belonged there. Armitage stood outside for a little bit wondering whether to go in or not. He imagined they had all gone in to an army of people want to hug them, buy them a drink and ask about their day. If he walked in he thought everyone would stare at him knowing he didn't belong there. Or maybe, he thought, I might actually meet someone, maybe I might just get a nice atmosphere and a place to read or think. He recognised his father's snort at his idiocy but he was determined to prove it and himself wrong.    
  
He locked his bike up and walked into the pub, the minute he got in the smell of stale beer and whiskey hit him and he froze. He had a look around to see a lot of men and women around his father's age who all terrified him, he took a deep breath and walked to the bar without looking at anyone else. He stopped a couple of steps in front of it and looked at the menu, he had to look like he knew what he was doing but he didn't order alcohol so often that he knew what he was doing. He overheard someone ordering something and repeated those words exactly. The barman raised his eyebrows, took his money and brought a bottle containing a pale golden drink and a glass with ice in it. Armitage thanked him before taking his drink round to an empty corner of the room. He sat on the frayed, stained, tartan cushioned chair and put his drink down on the table. At his first sip he grimaced and tried to restrain it so no one could see that he'd never drunk it before. He needn't have bothered because no one was paying attention to him but Armitage still wasn't used to being in public places (particularly not by himself.) He sat there awkwardly sipping his what he thought was beer but was actually cider watching everyone around him. There were groups of friends being loud, who made him flinch every time they shouted or laughed, there were couples sat by themselves in deep conversation, holding hands and kissing, there were old men leaning on the bar, there were men gathered around a television watching some sports game and then in the corner there was Armitage. He felt his face burning as he was convinced everyone was staring at him, why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? He kept screaming at himself. With every second he was there he felt more and more alone and the memory of his father screamed louder than ever. How he was "disgusting" and how "no one else" would care about him like he did (not that his father ever used the word care precisely.) His father was right. His father had always been right. He downed the rest of the drink and felt it hit him very suddenly. He felt nauseous and there was a sudden pain in his temples, he sat still for a moment and waited for it to pass before standing upright and headed towards the pub. When he was close to the door, he bumped into one of the groups of friends who were being particularly loud, they spilled a pint of beer all over his sleeve and he froze in pace.   
  
"Oh shit, sorry, mate," the drunken man, dark-haired man in his late twenties said, Armitage just stared at him opening his mouth to speak and then shutting them. The man reached his hand out and was about to speak again, terrified Armitage turned and ran. When he was out of the pub he heard the laughing behind him as he started hyperventilating and he suddenly felt nothing but contempt for himself. His cheeks and ears burned when he heard the voices inside convinced they were mocking him. Why couldn't I have just apologised like a normal person? What the fuck is wrong with me? Armitage kept repeating to himself as tears ran down his face. He grabbed his ginger hair and tugged it as hard as he could, pull his torso so he was almost bent in two. He stood up spun around and hit the brick wall to the pub as hard as he could. As soon as his knuckles made contact with it he heard a crack and it took him a moment to process what had happened but when he did he howled in pain. He doubled over crying as he looked at his hand - it was going to leave a spectacular bruise, and he'd been on the other end of a beating enough times to know when a bone was broken. He managed to pull himself up with his uninjured right hand and thought about how pathetic he was. Can't punch anything without hurting myself, he thought. And I can't hurt myself without crying like a baby. He added bitterly.

 

He started shaking from the pain and fear of what his father will do when he found out he took his old army coat, he'd had it for a long time and Brendol hadn't noticed. Armitage wore it outside and then shoved it in his bag before he got to the house... But when his father eventually went looking for it and knew it had a beer stain down the side he'd know what happened. And it's not like he could get one of the servants to do it, they'd tell his father and Armitage didn't actually know how to do it himself. He looked down at his hand and focused on the main thing, he was going to have to get to a hospital. Armitage might have been a little tipsy but he felt he could manage a bike, even with one hand. He rode it every day for two miles to the Academy and back. He should have taken a taxi or something but his bike was his most prized possession and he didn't want to lose it. He unlocked it, grab the bike and hobbled on it awkwardly with one hand. He balanced it between his legs put his bag on the handlebars, pulled out his shirt, put the bag back on the floor, took his coat off and hung it on the handlebars, and used his school shirt to make a make-shift sling. He put his coat on top of it and he was ready to go. Thankfully, many car rides to the hospital showed him he knew how to get there. It was going to be a long night. 

 

The bike ride to the hospital actually went okay, he was shaking a little but he stayed on the pavement and he only slid and fell off a handful of times. A lot of people moved out of his way, the rational side of his brain told him that it was because he was a shaky, one armed, teenage boy riding a bike. The problem was there was still that voice in his head that mimicked his father - their avoiding you because they know how useless, pathetic, clumsy and disgusting you are. He felt his eyes sting and the distraction made him fall off of his bike again. He pushed himself up off the wet, muddy pavement and lent on his bike to rest before making his way to the hospital. It was a mile and a half away and he'd only done the half bit, there was still a way to go. He breathed heavily as he rested his right hand lovingly on his red mountain bike he smiled and cried as his followed the black thunder bolts, stripes and writing. He fucking loved this bike, a lot. One day he was going to come down to the garage and find his father had done something to it - it could be anything from punctured the tires to smash up the thing. He was hoping his father wouldn't purely because it meant he didn't have to get someone to drive him anywhere... But spite drove a lot of his father's actions and he knew that none of this would stop him from destroying his beloved bike. Then again, he always thought he would have the first non-hand-me-down t-shirt taken away from him and he still had it hung up in his closet. It was so baggy when he first got it at ten years old, it actually fit him well now and was still a little loose. So maybe he was wrong and perhaps his father would let him have something nice. Although, to be honest he thought it was more likely his father just didn't care that much. He choked back more tears as he thought about that. It scared him how for so long he thought his was normal but now he knew that wasn't true. Aren't your parents supposed to love you? He thought. Not abandon you and torture you. He suddenly felt an aching guilt in his stomach. Mother didn't abandon you, he thought. She died or at least, that's what father said. He momentarily debated in his head as to whether his father would lie about something like that. He decided not to put it past him but he just couldn't deal with that right now. He took out his battered, mobile phone (one that used to belong to his dad) and saw the time as 10pm and put it back in his inside pocket. At least he got one wish, the amount of time they'd make him wait in Accident & Emergency he probably wasn't going to go home tonight. He jumped back on his bike ready to ride the last mile to the hospital, the sooner he got there, the quicker he got painkillers and warmth. In a lot of ways it was nicer than being at home. 

 

He eventually got there - wet, filthy and freezing. He locked up his bike by the ambulances and stumbled through the bright white automatic doors. He walked past a stack of wheelchairs, a few broken vending machines and an arguing old couple before he got to the reception desk. He awkwardly and quietly stood there until the nurse noticed him.   
  


"Hello dear, what seems to be the problem?" She said in a stressed, hurried manner from behind a computer, she had tight blonde curls and thick black glasses. This entire thing felt incredibly surreal. 

 

"I uh, I've broken my hand," Armitage responded lamely. She looked at him from over her glasses and gave him a once over, she didn't elaborate on this. She just smiled. 

 

"Oh dear, name?" She asked looking back at her computer. 

 

"Armitage Hux," he replied awkwardly. She found him, scrolled down through his medical records and furrowed her eyebrows. Medical staff always did that he thought bitterly. It was obvious to all of them what was happening to him and a few of the good ones actually asked him about it. Of course, if he did say anything, his father paid off the people who'd investigate to look the other way, or make them think Armitage was a troubled young man who liked to make up stories. It would nearly always result in his punishments getting worse. That being said, he did appreciate the gesture of help... It was significantly better than the ones who didn't care. After confirming his date of birth and address she asked him some further questions. 

 

"And how did you injure your hand?" She asked warily, Armitage almost felt like laughing. No matter what he said she was going to assume he was lying, she was probably assuming a tragic story like the one you see on TV movies they show in the middle of the night. 

 

"I uh, punched a wall," Armitage murmured, cheeks burning bright red. He knew he looked foolish with his bright red face and ginger hair, he hated it. 

 

"Hmm," She began typing that down but clearly not believing him. "Have you take anything for the pain?" Armitage shook his head. "Right, if you sit down a nurse will call you in soon and then you will have tiw wait to see the doctor," she paused. "Would you like us to phone your parents-"

 

"No!" Armitage said suddenly in horror. The woman gave an irritatingly knowing glance in response which made Armitage want to punch her. "No-" he cleared his throat. "My uh, father's got to work early in the morning. He dropped me off here, it's fine," he assured. She knew he was lying but there wasn't anything she could do.   
  
"Okay, you can wait over here, let me know if you need anything," she said condescendingly. Armitage nodded before turning around and rolling his eyes as he walked towards a free chair in the corner. He was wrong, she didn't care she was just incredibly intrusive. He tried not to think about it as he awaited a long night of surreal bordem. Armitage always saw the hospital as a strange place especially at night, there were certain type of people who could only be found at this time in this place. After he had been there twenty minutes there was an older man who stumbled around and stank of vodka who sat next to him.   
  
"You alright, kid?" He mumbled. Armitage nodded awkwardly edging away a little. He started talking about his night, and Armitage only caught every third word. It seemed to be something about "some bastard", "a dog", and "this country". He thought he was a harmless slightly eccentric man but when he placed his hand on Armitage's knee, and pushed it up to his crotch and groped him he jumped up, and stood in the corridor by reception throwing terrified glances at the waiting room until the nurse called him in. He noticed a couple of heads turn when they heard "Hux", he tried not to pay attention to it. A lot of people didn't know his father had a son and the ones who did knew he was an illegitimate son. The majority of those people didn't believe what his father was like and again, assumed Hux was a "troubled" child like his father had often insisted (among all the other things he often said to Armitage's face.)   
  
He relaxed instantly when he entered the nurses room, because she too thought it was broken and she was going to give him painkillers, an actual sling and his own room *well, a bed with a curtain but it was away from the sexual assaulter.) Before she left however, to Armitage's dismay she started the "don't you want us to ring your parents?" conversation. Armitage repeated the same lie, more convincingly this time and the Nurse seemed satisfied. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and in boredom, eventually a doctor came, gave him an x-ray, confirmed it was broken and put a cast on Armitage's hand. He told him that if he needed the reception stuff to they could ring his father. He thanked him and didn't say how that wasn't necessary. He eventually left and unlocked his bike at 4am, he couldn't use his left hand on his bike still but it was significantly better, and the pavement was drier so the ride home was a lot easier. When he got there, he put his bike in the garage, walked into his house to discover no one was awake and the lights were off. He crept upstairs to his room to discover it was empty. He relaxed instantly, hid his father's military jacket in the wardrobe, kicked off his shoes and fell back onto his bed. He had to admit, he hadn't turned out as planned and it wasn't perfect but it was a lot better than the nights he spent at home.


	5. Disgust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years have passed. Hux is now seventeen, a year away from the end of the Military Academy and has started calling himself "Hux" (for gender reasons and also he prefers the sound generally.) He comes home to discover a guest in his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: child abuse, self-harming mention, rape mention.

Hux stopped suddenly outside of the garage on his bike and narrowed his eyes. There was a car there, not in the garage, that didn't belong to his father. It was a black 4x4 that declared itself as a Jaguar F-Pace and he stared at it in confusion, his father never met anyone in the house without telling him first. He sighed in irritation, he couldn't put his bike in the garage. It would make too much noise and Hux had a protocol for when someone was visiting which had been drummed into him for as long as he could remember. He had to stay in his room  _quietly_ , he wasn't allowed out and he wasn't to make any noise. As he got older it had changed somewhat since he'd rebelled against his father keeping him captive. Now if he was coming home he had to sneak in the back way and if he made any noise at all as he made his way up to his room he would be punished for it later. He pushed his bike around the side of the garage and the back of the house. He balanced it up against the wall nervously - it would have been fine since you couldn't get into the grounds without a key but it still made him nervous. I'll just have to come straight back down and put it away properly when whoever father's seeing has gone, Hux thought bitterly. He walked around the backyard and as soon as he got to the window next to the back patio doors he fell to the ground and repressed the urge to swear. His father was seeing the guest in the dining room and he never did that. Thankfully that bastard sent me to that fucking academy, Hux thought as he crawled backwards. on his stomach and suddenly stopped when he heard his name. He flinched a little, he hated hearing his first name. The harsh syllables together made him flinch and it felt far too masculine... The fact that it was his father who chose the name also factored into it. 

 

"Armitage is talking about going to study engineering at university," his father said. Hux actually smiled a little, he actually listened to me when I mentioned that? He thought to himself. "Not that that's going to happen, he's going to join the army. The problem is-" Hux's smile dropped and he scowled. No, I'm going to be an engineer, he thought. "He's never going to get into the army. I tried but-" Hux recognised the sound of his father picking up a glass of whiskey and taking a sip. "-I mean his grades are perfect-" Hux smiled a little, his father never acknowledged that. He always just focused on everything Hux did wrong. "-but-" Hux repressed a sighed, here it was. "He's a weak, pathetic, too skinny. He doesn't have the will to make anything-" Hux's eyes stung, Brendol always said this and he hated it. He scowled into the ground and realised he didn't want to hear the rest of it. He was about to crawl backward when he heard the other person mention him.   
  
"You're not giving him a glowing endorsement to this line of work," he heard a woman say. Hux froze, what was his father doing? 

 

"Oh, he'll be fine. He has a spectacular grasp on control, you only have to his arms and hands to know how he beats them to a pulp and cuts them to shreds at every opportunity. He could beat a man to death without a second thought. He's smart, even if it's not in the right way.  He doesn't care about anyone, he has no friends or anyone he loves so you don't have to worry about sentiment. He wouldn't amount to anything else useful, he should go with you," his father said with slightly slurred words. Hux clenched his jaw in an attempt to hold back tears, his father was right. He hated the back handed compliments worse than the insults. It showed his father was capable of appreciating him but just didn't want to. And even then, he hated what he considered his strengths to be. "A spectacular grasp of control"? Of course he did, he had to. His father hurt him for speaking to loud, crying, laughing, dropping something, if his room wasn't immaculate, he his clothes weren't perfect and everything else. "Smart, even if it's not in the right way"? And was he really using the fact he hurt himself because of his father as a selling point? And, he thought suddenly. What is she talking about? What line of work does she mean?

 

"And you're sure about giving you're son to us?" The woman said curiously. Oh don't worry about that, Hux thought bitterly. He couldn't believe this, his father was going to send him to... What exactly? He really wasn't going to be able to go to university. He wasn't going to be able to become an engineer. His head clouded up and he wanted to burst into tears but he couldn't. "And, whose his mother? I thought Maratelle couldn't-"   
  
"She couldn't no, Armitage's not her son. Thankfully. If she had that maggot and had to see what he turned into? No, it's a good thing she left as soon as she did. HIs mother however? The biggest mistake I ever made," Brendol said. Hux wanted to leave but couldn't - he needed to hear what they were talking about. No matter how hard it was to hear. 

 

"Well," the woman said pushing her chair backwards and standing up. "I want to meet him, test him, see how he measures up. Then we'll talk about what we're willing to pay for him."

 

Hux froze and edged backwards away from the window and stood up suddenly. He wanted to run away. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream at someone. He knew his father hated him but he assumed deep down that he cared. He was his son. He couldn't do this to him. He couldn't. Hux heard the woman drive away and heard the front door slam. He walked back to his bike to put it back into the garage and attempted to force himself to disassociate. He needed to not care right now and he couldn't. He left his bike against the wall and started punching it as hard as he could - not once, or just twice but he just let himself beat the wall. Blood started to rest on the grey bricks and he didn't care. He didn't stop until he felt tears just fall from his eyes in floods, he turned around and leaned against the wall. He slipped down so he was sitting on the floor next to his bike and continued to cry. He wrapped his hands around his bent legs. Father's right, he thought. I am pathetic, weak and no wonder he's trying to get rid of me. He felt like a scared child again, curled up in his tiny old room in the dark after his father beat him and made him call himself names. All this time he thought his father did care about him really, even if he couldn't show it very well. But no, his father didn't care. He just wanted him to leave. Hux wondered idly if he blamed him for his and Maratelle's divorce, he probably did. He blames me for everything else, he thought. He rock backwards and forwards as he tried to calm himself down. When he was little, he used to have this fantasy that his mother would come and save him. She'd love him and take him away from his father who he'd never have to see again. For the first time in years Hux found himself wishing that his mother would come and save him. But she didn't.. He sat and there and cried, but nobody came to save him.   
  
He finally managed to get up and push his bike into the garage. When he locked it up next to his father car, he turned around, realised he had dropped his school bag next to the garage when he went around the back and went down to go get it. When he was around by the patio, he unexpectedly bumped into his father. Hux froze and dropped the bag he just picked up.   
  
"What are you doing skulking around here?" Brendol growled at his son who was now taller than him but still managed to shrink beneath him.   
  
"I uh-" Hux stopped. On the one hand, he couldn't explain that without telling his father that he had heard everything. Then again, he thought bitterly. He's trying to sell me, I don't owe the bastard anything. "I saw you had a guest, I went round the back, I saw you were there with her, I was about to leave but then I heard you were talking about me," he said straightening up and pretending to have confidence he didn't possess. His father calling his bluff, took a step forward and glared.   
  
"Oh? You just decided to stay and listen in on my conversations?" Brendol began, grabbing Hux's shirt and shoving him against the wall. Hux struggled away from him with ease, and punched his father in the jaw. To both of their surprise. Hux didn't fight back. He never fought back.   
  
"Fuck you," Hux snarled. "I'm not fucking scared of you any more," he lied. "You're supposed to be my father. How could you do this?!" He turned to walk away.   
  
"Don't you dare walk away from me," Brendol screamed back. Hux turned back.   
  
"You can't talk to me like that anymore," Hux replied in a low voice but one that could cut through stone. "I'm your son, Brendol Hux. And I always have been. You can hurt or rape me any more, you can't pretend it's for my own good. You're going to sell me off to some bitch and you can't fucking tell me it's what I 'need'. You just want to get rid of me, you always just wanted get fucking rid of me. But you couldn't. My mother abandoned me, your wife left you and you were stuck with me. You could've given me away before now but you didn't want to be alone. You needed someone to beat and abuse. You're the pathetic one." There was a heavy silence between the two that caused both of them to stand still, daring the other to speak first. 

 

"I let you live," Brendol responded, voice raised. Hux smirked for a second, he had the ability to turn his voice into a weapon without raising his voice. His father would never have that.   
  
"Yeah, you let me live," Hux snarled. "That's not something people are supposed to be grateful, you know? Parents' don't usually tell their children 'you should be grateful because I didn't kill you'. Most people don't even think of that. You're a fucking monster." At that Brendol lost control. He grabbed Hux by the neck, and threw him against the wall. He stood over his thin, red-haired child as he crumpled to the floor.  
  
"And you're a weak, pathetic child," Brendol began, as he stamped on Hux's groin who screamed out and fell forward only to be picked up by his hair. "Do you think I want to have you as a son? I always wanted an heir you know, a strong, man who could actually live up to everything I've done. Instead, I got you." He grabbed Hux by his neck and held him up off his feet and against the wall, squeezing his neck as hard as he could. "I could kill you right now," he continued as Hux squirmed. "I could kill you and no one would care, or notice. I'm the only one who would even bother going to your funeral." He dropped Hux to the ground and spat on him. "You're right. I despise you. And that's why I'm selling you to Phasma. You'll stay in the city in your own apartment. I'm hoping you'll even fail at trying to look after yourself. Maybe I'll read about your death in the newspaper, that would be a nice thing to wake up to." He stood for a moment in silence. "You know, I was originally looking for you to fuck you, but you're such a disgusting thing lying their on the ground I think I'll get a whore instead." Hux curled up in pain as he watched his father leave him there. Well, at least it's one way out of here, he thought bitterly as he cried quietly to himself. At least this will be over. 


	6. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendol sets up a meeting between Hux and Phasma, she tests whether she wants to buy him and put him to work as a hitman.

Hux eventually met Phasma, he was in his room, in the middle of the day on a Saturday reading an engineering text book when he heard the familiar sound of his father shouting him downstairs. He rolled his eyes, slipped the textbook under his pillow and walked downstairs. He walked into the downstairs living room to discover his father sat across from a tall, muscular blonde woman. Hux froze and stared at them both. His father tried to avoid introducing him to people and denied his existence as much as possible... This was strange.

 

"Son," His father began with a smile. Hux almost did a double take, this was even stranger. "This is Phasma," he continued gesturing to the woman who nodded whilst eyeing him up and down. Hux suddenly felt a little bit like racehorse. "We discussed her?" Hux almost snorted at this, that was an odd way to say 'you listened in on our conversation, punched me in the jaw and then I ruined your life'. Instead, Hux just gave a small nod which Phasma returned with an amused glint in her eye.

 

"It's nice to meet you, Armitage," Phasma said, noting the flinch in Hux's face when she used his first name. Hux didn't reply and thus received a scowl from his father.

 

"Armitage, manners," he growled, causing Hux to jump. To anyone else it probably sounded like a harmless, parental scolding. Hux knew better. He didn't know it but Phasma noticed the flinching more than scolding, she noticed quite a lot.

 

"I- It's nice to meet you too, ma'am," Hux stammered. He got a slight smile from Phasma when he called her 'ma'am'. He blushed and looked at the floor - at the Academy calling older men and women "sir" and "ma'am" was protocol. Hux often forgot that the real world didn't work like it did at the academy, but in his defense he had just discovered this at about fifteen and it wasn't something that he got reminded of very often.

 

"Armitage, Phasma wanted to spend the afternoon with you," Brendol said. Hux scowled at him, his father had found out he preferred 'Hux' recently and had now been calling him by his first name at every opportunity.

 

"Why?" Hux asked suspiciously. Stupid, he thought suddenly. You know full well why. This comment received a smirk from his father and Hux avoided looking at him, he was going to be humiliated for that later.

 

"Phasma wants to take a look at your skills, how you react in certain situations, emotional responses and such," Brendol said standing up. "And," he whispered in Hux's ear as he walked past. "Try not to cry or whine, she might actually take you off of my hands for quite a bit of money." With this Phasma stood up, still eyeing Hux curiously.

 

"Well, Armitage-"

 

"Hux," he interrupted. "I prefer Hux," he elaborated when he saw Phasma's confusion.

 

"Well then, Hux," she corrected herself, to which Hux smiled gratefully. "I thought we'd start at a shooting range. Have you ever been to a shooting range?" Hux resisted the urge to laugh - he went to a Military Academy.

 

"Yes I have," he responded politely.

 

"Good, this should be straight-forward then. After you," she said gesturing at the living room door. Hux walked out in front of her self-consciously. He still felt like he was a racehorse she was interested in buying and there was something really uncomfortable about it... But Hux would be lying if there wasn't something kind of great in being wanted - he just wished it wasn't as if he was a commodity.

 

When Hux walked out of the house with Phasma behind him he recognised the red Jaguar F-Pace from before. She used her keys to open the door and he stood awkwardly between two doors.

 

"W-where shall I sit?" He asked. He hadn't been in a car since he was twelve years old and his father had forced him to get into the boot on multiple occasions then. Phasma opened her mouth to speak, closed it and tilted her head before speaking again.

 

"You can sit in the passenger seat, if you like," she said curiously.

 

"Seriously? Like, at the front?" He responded almost taking a step back in bewilderment.

 

"That's traditionally where the passenger seat is," she replied with an encouraging smile. Hux stared at her again unsure of how to respond but she got into the car before he could. He carefully opened the door, stroked the inside, enjoying the feeling against his fingers and sat on the light leather seat feeling self conscious about placing his worn out trainers on the floor. He jumped a little when the door shut louder than he expected. He noticed Phasma was watching him and he blushed, feeling a little insecure. "Seat belt," she reminded him and he did so immediately. Phasma put on a pair of sunglasses before she reversed out of the drive, turned around and drove down the pathway from the house. This was going a little nicer than expecting, he half thought his father was going to throw him in the back of a van and drop him off on someone's doorstep in shackles. When they made it to the main road on the way into the city was when Phasma started up conversation again.

 

"I have booked the shooting rang for thirty minutes. Not very long but I'm not looking for anything big, just a vague idea of what you can do," Phasma said, expecting a response. When she didn't get one she tried again. "What can you do with a gun?" She asked.

 

"Depends on what kind," he responded. He didn't mean to sound so glib bit thankfully she laughed.

 

"Good answer, okay, how are you with a .357 Magnum?" She asked, Hux resisted the urge to laugh.  
  


"That was what used for Marksmanship in my fourth year at the Academy. I aced the class and can reassemble one blindfolded in thirty seconds," Hux said, resisting the urge to brag a little.  
  


"Impressive!" She responded. He couldn't help but feel a little bit proud. "Okay, a little harder. What about a Colt AR-15?"

 

"In my Military Engineering class I took one apart, saw how it worked, and put it back together. Later on I had to try it out at the shooting range. It was good, but I'm better at more precise shooting," he responded a little bit disappointed with his answer.

 

"Hmm," she replied curiously. "You seem to be much more talented than I had been led to believe. I was told your intelligence was mostly academic."

 

"I-" Hux began a little awkwardly. "I'm better at essay work, I'm not very strong and I can't run up a flight out of stairs without running out of breath - but I'm easily the best marksman at the academy." He suddenly felt like he needed to impress her, this was probably his way out and he wasn't going to screw it up (as much as he disliked the idea of being sold like a pet.)

 

"And you go to a rather prestigious Academy so I'm told?"  
  


"Y-yes, my father used to teach there before-" Hux stopped and berated himself. You're doing that thing where you tell your entire life story to the first person who is even a little bit nice to you, stop it, he told himself. Thankfully Phasma didn't ask him to continue, possibly sensing his discomfort. After a few moments of silence, she continued with the questioning.

 

"How do you like the Academy?" She asked suddenly.

 

"How-how do you mean?" Hux responded in confusion. No one had ever asked him that before.

 

"Well, do you enjoy it? Have many friends?" She asked, grinding her teeth and glaring at someone who just pulled out in front of her.

 

"Uh, I like the classes. Military Engineering is my favourite. I don't really -" Hux stared out of the window awkwardly. "- I guess I prefer my own company," he finished uncomfortably. Or rather, I haven't had any choice but to, Hux thought sadly.

 

"You and me both," Phasma responded kindly with a smile. "Here we are," she said gesturing to an Ammunition shop. "This place has a shooting range at the back. So let's go!" She said parking up outside. Hux got out and looked around, no one else was parked here but he didn't know enough about cars to know whether that meant anything. He followed Phasma into the shop, staying at her heels like a puppy. As soon as they walked in the man behind the counter polishing a rifle froze.

 

"P-Phasma," he began with a worried smile. "The range is empty, your usual spot is all set up for you." Phasma nodded not responding and Hux looked at the man curiously as they both walked into the range. As soon as they were alone, Phasma's manner softened and she smiled at Hux.

 

"Let's start with a .357 Magnum and test out that Marksmanship," she said passing him the gun as he put on the noise cancelling headphones. She used a thumbs up signal which is generally considered a way of saying "you can shoot now". Hux stared at the hanging targets in front of him and closed his eyes momentarily. He imagined the first one was his father and something that wasn't him took over. BANG! BANG! BANG! He stopped, he felt dizzy, like he was watching himself in the shooting range through fog. He blinked took a deep breath and continued. Still imagining his father instead of the target. BANG! BANG! BANG! He put the gun down at the end and took of his noise cancelling headphones, looking back at Phasma for approval. She affectionately grabbed Hux's shoulder and grinned proudly at him. "Nice! Made all six targets, each one precisely in the middle. I'm impressed," She said taking the gun away from him. Let's see how you can do with something in a semi-automatic. Say, a Colt AR-15?" She said with a side smile. Hux put the headphones back on as she handed him the weapon. He held it nervously, not quite as secure as he was in the previous weapon. Phasma nodded and put her thumbs up reassuringly, Hux nodded and looked back down the range at the fresh six targets. He shot all six targets again, he was slightly off centre but still very good. Phasma and him did this for thirty minutes with various different guns: a M16 rifle, an AK-12, an M1911 pistol, and an Mk 12 which was his personal favourite. By the end, Hux felt like he had had a lot of fun and Phasma was satisfied and impressed.

 

"Our thirty minutes are up," she said taking away the Mk 12 - which made Hux pout a little - and clearing the room up. Hux stood their awkwardly, wanting to help but not being sure how to. Phasma didn't ask him to do anything so he didn't. He followed Phasma out and the nervous man at the counter attempted conversation with her. She didn't reply and just went back to polishing his gun. When they both got back into the car, Phasma responded cheerfully like the man hadn't been nervous at all. "Well, that was fun. How about we get something to eat?"

 

"Y-yes please," Hux replied a little bewildered. No one had bought him food before, even his father had withheld food from him and only given it to him if he deserved it.

 

"Where would you like to go? I'm thinking this nice little place I know just out of town," Phasma said, ignoring Hux's confusion. "What do you think?" Hux had no idea how to respond  not only was he being bought food - someone was actually asking him what he wanted. "I- uh - that sounds good," Hux said with a surprised smile. With that, Phasma set off in her car to the very place just outside of town. The entire way, Hux felt a little confused and rather uncomfortable. He had never been treated like a person before and he wasn't expecting it to come from someone who was looking to buy him.   
  
The cafe she chose was a quiet, small place on a mostly residential street with ivy growing on the outside. Hux followed Phasma in and as soon as they entered, the people at the staff did exactly what the man in the weapons shop did. They looked nervous and Phasma barely spoke to them. Hux couldn't help being confused by this - why was everyone so terrified of Phasma? She seemed really nice to him. She picked them a table at the back by the window which gave them both a view of the road they had just driven up. The meek waitress passed him a menu and Phasma sat across from him with hers watching them curiously. Before the ordered, Phasma tried her hand at small talk again.   
  
"Have you ever had sex?" She asked Hux suddenly whose eyes widened, he blushed, looked away and stammered a little. She felt her question was answered but went on with the line of questioning anyway.   
  
"I-uh- well, I've never really-no. Why?" Hux responded, visibly taken aback and everything about him screamed that he wanted to this conversation to end.   
  
"Ever kissed anyone? Girl? Boy? Someone who identified as neither?" Phasma pressed on, Hux was beginning to think that people didn't say no or just not respond to her.   
  
"No, I've never really-" Hux looked at the menu and decided this was not a time when he wanted to make eye contact with Phasma at all. "I guess I've never had the opportunity," he said lamely. Yeah, great excuse, he thought berating himself. He was glad when Phasma dropped this line of questioning there. He cheered up a little when he was allowed to order whatever he wanted on the menu and he got a glass of coke and a pepperoni pizza. Phasma didn't eat anything and got an iced tea to drink. Hux, who hadn't eaten that day and had only eaten snacks for he wasn't sure how long wolfed it down. When he was halfway through, Phasma started talking again. 

 

"I think I'm going to accept your father's deal," she said suddenly. Hux gulped and swallowed a little too much pizza before responding.   
  
"Okay," he said. He wasn't entirely sure what was expected of him.

 

"There's just one more thing I want to test but I'm not sure if it's necessary because I think I already have my answer," Phasma said cryptically. Hux took a swig of coke and stared at her.   
  
"What do you-"  
  
"Does your father beat you?" Phasma said interrupted. Hux stared at her and put his knife and fork down. He nodded, not saying a word. "Often?" He nodded again. "Does he berate you? Humiliate you? Starve you?" Hux confirmed all of these and she looked at him sadly. He felt a stab of anger, he didn't need pity. "Anything I've missed out?" Hux took a deep breath, he had no idea why he was about to say what he did but something about Phasma being his only way out made him desperate. 

 

"He first raped me when I was 10, he does it once or twice a week now. He was molesting me before that for quite a while, and he had me under house-arrest until I was about thirteen. He has a lot of rules about what I can and can't do - if he has company I'm not allowed downstairs, I'm not allowed to touch his car, if I'm in the house I have to be studying otherwise he gets angry-" He stopped and shrugged helplessly. "Think of a form of abuse, he does it. It gets worse when he's drunk. Why do you care?" He finished, a bit more bitterly than he had intended. 

 

"Hm," Phasma said, taking a sip from her iced tea and putting it down again. "As I suspected. I asked because the next test is usually judging people's ability to defend themselves and take punches. Given your living situation, I think that's not really necessary." Hux smiled and gave a humourless laugh in response.   
  
"So, did I get the job?" Hux asked, a little more flippantly than he usually did.   
  
"I need to talk to your father but-" Phasma paused and smiled. "It's looking good for you, Hux."   
  
Hux was dropped off at home after that and Phasma talked to his father for a long time. Hux stayed in his room for the entire time but after a while he was called down again to be informed that he in two days time he would be moving into an apartment Phasma owns in the city. He had to pack all of his things to be picked up by a couple of men who worked for Phasma's tomorrow, and the day after she would pick him up and take him to his new home. Those two days passed in a surreal blur, and by the end of it Hux was standing in his own apartment, with his own things, his mountain bike leaning against the wall next to the door, his own bed, sofa, kitchen, bathroom ... His own place. His own rules. He was out of his home, he never had to see his father again. He felt free, lonely, and scared. It took a while before any of it felt real - and in that time he started to realise why people were terrified of Phasma.

 

 


End file.
